


Head Full of Noise

by ladyofstardvst



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Language, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofstardvst/pseuds/ladyofstardvst
Summary: in which Billy Hargrove begins to fall in love with you at the record shop, and realizes that maybe he doesn't have to be terrible all the time. We pretend s3 did not happen!
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Reader
Kudos: 10





	Head Full of Noise

**Author's Note:**

> i don't go here, but rewatching s3 last year made me realize he has the Potential to not be a Resident Trash Bag so I ran with it!!!! zero regrets tbh

_Volume 1._

There were days when nothing mattered except the crackle and whir of a vinyl record.

Chords, melodies, a bass pounding in your bones – it was the only thing to quiet the noise, soften the pressure, prompt you to breathe. To sooth your soul. To chase the silence into submission and calm the rising tide that threatened to drown your thoughts; the ones that wanted to leave you washed ashore gasping for breath, begging for warmth.

In the summer of 1985, you discovered Billy Hargrove felt the same.

He came into Tower Records on a balmy Wednesday afternoon, fresh off his shift from Hawkins Pool. A warm breeze followed him through the door, the bell overhead going wild to smother the music lazing through the shop.

He spots you behind the counter, a beat up trade paperback in your hands. You _know_ who walked in. You don’t look up from your book.

“Where are the new releases?”

You peer at him over the pages, hand in position to flip the page. “ _What_?”

Billy looks at you like you just kicked a puppy. “The new releases?” he gestures to the waning selection before him. “Where are the rest of them?”

“Storeroom in back.”

“ _Why_?”

Your eyes traced a path from this infamous boy, to the clock on the wall. Back to Billy. Back to the clock. You met his eyes, eyebrows raised.

“We close in _ten minutes,_ That’s officially tomorrow’s problem,” the book in your hands closes, found a place on the counter in front of you. “What came out yesterday that you’re willing to commit murder for?”

He _glares_.

You don’t so much as _blink_.

“The new RATT -”

“Invasion of Your Privacy.” your voices melt together on the album title, and you bite back the urge to smile. You’ve listened to it twice already.

He wears a smug look now, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. “You know it?”

“I work here for a reason, dumbass. Just – hang on.”

He watched you disappear through a door marked ‘ _EMPLOYEES ONLY_ ’.

_Volume 2._

The next time you see him is on a Tuesday morning.

The last rays of morning sun have risen high enough to shine through tree branches and reflect off tall windowpanes. Hawkins was still coming alive with the rise of the sun and the caress of a cool breeze untainted from summer heat.

You were no exception, holding a to-go cup from the coffee shop as you unlocked Tower for the day. The _OPEN_ sign had been flipped by your fingertips, and the needle on the record player placed on the first groove of _First and Last and Always._

It was a relief when you began to wake up with the slow morning, a little lost in your thoughts while restocking the albums left empty from the day before. You moved down the aisles, the Sisters of Mercy record taking root in your mind, your body, your soul as you moved aisle by aisle, song by song.

The bell over the door was the only thing to smash your rhythm to pieces. The calm you crafted had shattered when you saw who walked inside.

Well _, shit._

“What do you want now?” you asked, eyes narrowed, tone sharp. The stack of Tom Petty records in your hands were forgotten, hanging slack in your fingertips dropped at your side.

“You know,” he drawls, classic smirk hanging effortlessly on his lips. “I bet you could guess.” His expression is otherwise open, easy. D _aring_ you to challenge him more than you did last week.

“ _Why_ ,” you matched his tone, already tired of this game he tried to play. “Would I waste my breath?”

He kept his cool, draped an arm over the nearest display. “You know your shit.”

“Did you expect to be the _only one_ _who does?_ ”

There’s a laugh, next. One that’s low, one that’s surprised, one that’s . . . _genuine_.

Before you realize it, you’re smiling all sugary sweet too.

_Volume 3._

There was a time – you clearly recall – when you mentioned you would rather watch the shop burn down than give Billy Hargrove the time of day.

Then came summer with it’s trick of freedom and Van Gogh skies. It’s warm comfort of forever, of invincibility. It snuck in through the cracks you weren’t guarding, wrapped around your spine and your heart, sneaking rose-tinted glasses over your eyes while you were asleep.

You never noticed, since it happened so gradually, but you began to notice now.

Somehow, annoyed arguments simmered down to heated debates, then cooled off to real conversations about concept albums and hidden meanings. Somehow, that paved the road to take you here: a forgotten road at dusk, lounging on the hood of Billy Hargrove’s camaro. Mötley Crüe played through the speakers, windows down, car doors left open. The thrash was loud enough you could barely hear the cicadas screaming in the trees.

“You know, I would have expected a higher quality cassette deck in this pretentious car of yours.”

Billy snorted. “Shit talking my car now?”

You tipped your head back to peek at the first stars blinking awa ke in the sky. It grew darker by the  second ,  and  the only light was the full moon ascending through the  canopy of trees.  Your laughter broke free, quiet and honest and warm,  and Billy had to look anywhere other than at you. Glowing in moonlight, a halo of stars above you.  L aughter  kissed by divinity , intelligence always leaving your lips.  Billy had never been religious, but he knew he could worship you if he ever had the chance.

A new warmth  lingered  in your chest when you caught him staring something  _ new _ , something  so painfully  _ soft _ living in his eyes. It made your stomach flip, and your thoughts become static – you liked that look, you realized. Maybe even liked  _ him _ .

_Oh no._

“Well I have to shit talk something,” you answered, finally. Your smile lingered. “Because I don’t think I can talk shit about _you_ anymore.”


End file.
